Chapter 47 The Godmother

Chapter 47 The Godmother

Jasmine:

The first man who questioned my authority lost three fingers. The second disappeared entirely. And by the third week, no one questioned me anymore.

The title spread quickly through Italy, it was murmured through halls and private meetings with equal parts fear and fascination.

The Godmother.

At first, I wasn’t sure I liked hearing it. Every time someone called me that, it felt like another piece of my old life was being buried beneath the weight of this one.

But eventually, I stopped reacting. Because names only matter when you still recognize the person carrying them. And I barely recognised myself anymore.

The woman who once walked runways in New York, who worried about cameras and contracts and whether a dress would photograph well under flashing lights, felt impossibly far away now.

That woman had loved too easily, trusted too blindly. This version of me didn’t.

This version understood what power truly cost.

I stood at the head of the long conference table in one of the Vorn estate’s underground chambers, staring down at maps, shipment routes, and photographs spread neatly across the polished black surface. Men sat around me in complete silence, waiting. None of them interrupted me anymore, not after what happened to Arturo.

He had laughed the first time I gave an order. The second time, he refused to carry it out. The third time, I had him dragged into the courtyard and shot in the knee in front of everyone before replacing him by sunset.

Now they understood. I was not Lucien Vorn’s daughter anymore. I was his successor. And unlike my father, I didn’t leave room for doubt.

My gaze settled on the photograph nearest to me. A warehouse. One of Nikolai Moretti’s.

The sight of his name alone made something cold twist inside my chest.

Nikolai. Even now, after everything, thinking about him still hurt in ways anger alone couldn’t explain. That only made me hate him more.

The room remained quiet as I picked up the photograph slowly.

“He stores weapons here twice a month,” I said evenly. “Cash shipments move through the south entrance before dawn.”

One of the men nodded immediately. “Minimal security during transfer hours.”

“Good,” I replied. “Then we hit it before sunrise.”

There were a few exchanged glances because this wasn’t how wars usually began between families like ours. There were rules, politics, warnings, negotiations.

I had no interest in any of those things. I wanted him to feel it. But my first intent wasn’t devastation, no. Just a message, a reminder.

The Godmother of the Vorn family had arrived, and she wasn’t going to back down.

Dante remained silent until the others were dismissed. The moment the doors shut behind them, the tension in the room shifted.

He leaned against the edge of the table, with his arms crossed over his chest, and his expression dark with frustration.

“This is reckless.”

I didn’t look up from the maps.

“It’s controlled.”

“It’s emotional.”

That made my eyes lift slowly.

“You think I’m emotional?”

“I think you’re angry,” Dante corrected calmly. “And angry people make mistakes.”

A humourless smile touched my lips.

“You sound nervous.”

“I sound logical.”

I dropped the photograph back onto the table.

“My father is dead.”

“And you don’t know who killed him.”

“I know enough.”

Dante pushed himself away from the table immediately.

“No,” he said sharply. “These past week I looked into your father’s death and something is not adding up.”

I stared at him. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then I exhaled slowly and walked toward the large window overlooking the estate grounds. The clouds had turned dark; it was about to rain.

“He had motive,” I said quietly. “My family killed his mother. They destroyed his father. He spent years wanting revenge.”

“Yes,” Dante admitted. “But something still doesn’t make sense.”

I turned toward him.

“What exactly doesn’t make sense to you?”

“All of it,” he replied immediately. “The timing. Pietro suddenly discovering your identity. Me being pulled to New York. Lucien disappearing while half the family security was redirected elsewhere. I mean, you’ve realised some of these things yourself.”

I folded my arms.

“The note was there. Nikolai could’ve orchestrated that.”

Dante shook his head.

“That’s too convenient.”

My jaw tightened.

“You weren’t there,” I snapped. “You didn’t see what he became after he found out who I was.”

“I know exactly what he became,” Dante said. “That’s why I don’t think he did this.”

The room went still. I stared at him carefully now. And suddenly, something ugly stirred beneath my ribs.

Suspicion.

“Whose side are you on?”

The question came out colder than I intended, and Dante’s expression shifted immediately.

“Elena.”

“No,” I cut in sharply. “Answer me.”

His jaw tightened.

“I’m on the side that doesn’t intentionally start a war.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. It was already too late for that.

“It already started.”

Dante stared at me for a long moment, like he was searching for traces of the girl he once knew beneath everything I’d become.

He wasn’t going to find her. That girl died the moment she walked away from New York. The moment she left the only man she had ever loved because she believed he murdered her father. The moment she came home and found a coffin waiting for her.

“You’re letting grief make decisions for you,” Dante said quietly.

“And you’re letting feelings blind you,” I fired back.

Something flickered across his face then. Something akin to pain, because we both knew what he wasn’t saying.

He had cared about me once. Maybe he still did. But this wasn’t about that anymore. Nothing was.

I stepped closer to the table again, placing both palms flat against the surface.

“The warehouse gets hit tonight,” I said calmly. “No unnecessary deaths. Burn the shipments. Leave survivors.”

Dante exhaled heavily through his nose.

“Elena—”

“That’s already an order, Dante. And it’s not getting overturned.”

Without another word said, I watched Dante leave the room, and when the doors shut behind him, I remained standing there alone.

Rain had already began falling, hammering hard against the windows.

War. That was what this was now. And somewhere in New York, Nikolai Moretti was still breathing.

Not for long now…